Don Bonnefoy
by situationalstudent
Summary: Francis Bonnefoy has bedded thousands of men and women with the help of his trusty servant, Antonio, but he makes one too many mistakes in his recent conquests and must face the hellish consequences. France/Everyone, Germany/Italy, Romano/Spain, FrUK


Don Bonnefoy: a Dramedy

**Warnings: This is a fusion of **_**Don Giovanni**_**, and follows many of the framing devices thereof. Therefore, in this chapter, and only this chapter, there is an attempted sexual assault and character death of a minor character as per the original opera. There are several pairings in here, including France/Everyone as the main story, and then the side pairings of Germany/Italy and Romano/Spain.**

* * *

><p>Antonio liked the night, and this night, where he sat on the steps outside the Vargas house, keeping watch for his lord, Don Bonnefoy, was no different. What he did not like, however, was being worked to death by his master but, ah, that was life. But, to be fair, he was relatively happy, and he kicked his legs cheerfully while he waited, humming to himself and thinking fond thoughts of Romano Vargas, his petulant lover who lived with his brother and grandfather, the<em>Commendatore<em>, Don Vargas.

Antonio wore dark blues, and a mask of the same hue, to blend in to the warm velvet blackness of the Spanish night. He also had a small tortoise in his pocket, and he took the little creature out to keep him company while he waited, because it seemed like his life was all waiting or working for Don Bonnefoy.

"Hello, Mr. Tortoise," he said to the creature, who looked at him blankly. "How are you? It's a nice night, don't you think? But it would be nice if Don Bonnefoy would hurry up so we can go home and enjoy Romano's company, yes?"

The tortoise, being a tortoise, said nothing.

"But, why do I have to work all night and day while he pursues love? I want to see my little Romano, but there he is, chasing after his brother! Shouldn't I be the one seducing a Vargas boy? Every day, I help him bed men and women and, yet, I don't get to be with my Romano! What could be worse? But…perhaps it is better that Romano is at my house tonight, because I might be out of a job if he caught Don Bonnefoy with his brother. He'd kill him, Mr. Tortoise!"

Again, the turtle said nothing and Antonio was content with that, so he went on swinging his legs and humming to himself. He knew his lord could be in the house for quite a long time if he was successful in his seduction. He almost hoped his seduction would fail and he would be able to go to his home, where Romano was visiting, all the sooner.

Antonio leaned back and resigned himself to his waiting.

* * *

><p>Upstairs, away from Antonio and his tortoise, Feliciano Vargas slept fitfully. He never liked being alone in the room but, since his engagement and the advent of Romano's interesting relationship, he and his brother had slept apart. Admittedly, it made certain aspects of his engagement much easier, but, on the whole, he missed his brother and lamented his loneliness.<p>

In his restlessness he did not notice the creak of the window sliding open until a warm breeze blew into his bedroom, blowing the curtains out into the room. He yawned daintily and giggled when a warm pair of lips pressed behind his ear.

"Oh, _Ludwig_. You know you can just use the stairs," he said with a laugh, eyes still closed, while warm hands trailed down his body and opened his flimsy night-shirt. A warm, leather-gloved hand curled around his penis and he moaned helplessly. "Grandpa will, ah, let you in, you know."

Feliciano was not surprised when Ludwig failed to respond; he was always so embarrassed by these things. He was surprised, however, when the breath ghosting across his face reeked of wine and even more so when those wandering hands dipped between his buttocks to press against his anus. Ludwig knew that particular act had to wait until after the marriage, and had always expressed a desire to be on the receiving end of things, anyway. Feliciano stiffened immediately, and tried to pull away, but those hands grabbed him again and one dry finger breached him.

He yelped. "Ludwig, ah, _ow_, what are you doing? That_hurts_!"

"Oh honhonhonhonhon," his attacker said, laughing and twisting the finger painfully, and Feliciano knew then that it was not Ludwig doing these things to him.

So, Feliciano did the first thing that came to mind. He screamed.

It had the desired effect; the man pulled away from him immediately and made for the door. Feliciano pursued him, still screaming, and threaded his fingers in the unknown man's long blond hair and pulled, hard. The man screeched but kept running, and Feliciano chased him down the stairs, crying for his grandfather all the way.

* * *

><p>A scream cut through the warm summer night, disturbing Antonio's fuzzy, pleasant thoughts of Romano sprawled out naked on his back. Antonio jumped up and reached for his knife, hurriedly stuffing the tortoise back into his pocket.<p>

In a swirl of finery, Francis Bonnefoy ran past him down the stairs, face masked, with a half-dressed Feliciano Vargas struggling to pull him back into the house.

"Who are you? You're not Ludwig! _You came into my room_!" Feliciano wailed, hysterical. "I won't let you go! My grandfather will put you in prison, you lecher!"

Antonio knew he was paid to help his master, but he was always so fond of Feliciano, and he could not bring himself to pry the young man off of Francis. Instead, he hung back, conflicted, while Feliciano shouted in Francis's ear about unlawful seduction and his engagement.

"Help me, man!" Francis said angrily, pulling away from Feliciano's furiously grasping, swatting hands.

Antonio was grateful that his lord had the decency not to call him by name and put his sometimes, almost relationship with Romano and, therefore, the Vargas family, at risk.

"No, no, help me!" Feliciano wailed. Francis shoved him away and he fell, hard, and promptly began to cry, holding his flimsy night shirt closed across his chest.

"Oh, don't cry," Antonio said cheerfully while the don struggled to catch his breath. "Here, do you want to see my tortoise?"

"No!"

"But he's a very nice tortoise, there's no need to cry!"

"He, he, he, he pretended to be Ludwig and came into my room to _ravish me_! Grandpa! Grandpa, help me!" Feliciano said at the top of his voice.

And that brought Don Vargas running down the steps in his nightclothes. He took in the sight of Feliciano sprawled across the ground, crying, with a masked man standing over him and came to the logical conclusion.

"What are you doing to my grandson? Go, go Feliciano, go get help," Don Vargas said to his youngest grandson. "Get away from here._Go_."

He did not need any more encouragement, and Feliciano ran off, still half-sobbing. "I'm going to get Ludwig!"

Antonio sighed, half in relief; at least Romano was not here to see him. But it just was not fair that nearly any chance he had to see the elder Vargas brother ended not with beautiful love-making but rather with Francis ruining any chance for romance. The ones that did end with glorious love-making were invariably lacking in the Bonnefoy department.

"What were you doing to my sweet grandson?" Don Vargas said. "Why were you in his room?"

Francis laughed, low in his throat. "I was just spreading_l'amour_! But, if you are so upset with me, I will challenge you to a duel, to settle things."

"But, my lord, he's an old man, you shouldn't hurt him," Antonio said, stepping out into the pooling lamp-light. "You two shouldn't fight."

But, alas, Don Vargas did not think himself an old man, and Don Bonnefoy did not particularly care if he needed to cut down an old man in the name of love.

"Shut up, darling, and call our duel," Francis said off-handedly, hand on his rapier.

Antonio called. They drew, and Francis struck the first blow. He dug the rapier deep into his opponent's stomach and Don Vargas hit the ground like the speared boar, bleeding from his gut.

Antonio made a valiant attempt not to vomit as he watched Don Vargas expire before his eyes. He failed and ended up bent over, purging his guts onto the steps. After several long, sticky, noisy moments, Francis gripped his shoulder tightly and handed him a handkerchief.

"We have to go, Antonio, we have to go," he said, urging Antonio up and away from the Vargas house. "That boy will be back soon, with help. _Run_!"

Antonio tripped over his feet in his attempt to flee, guilt and horror flooding his mind. Francis ran ahead of him, clutching his sleeve in their mad dash to escape. When they finally made it to Francis's manse, clutching stitches in their sides, Antonio collapsed on the steps and buried his face in his knees.

"Why did you have to kill him? You could have just ran, Don Bonnefoy, why did you have to challenge him to a duel? He didn't know who you were…."

"These things happen sometimes in the pursuit of love, Antonio; I'm sure you know this," Francis said, offhandedly. "You might even get grief sex with Romano. Now, up. I need you to run me a bath and, afterward," he paused to look down at his clothes, "wash my clothes of the Vargas man's blood. I like this suit, and I'd rather it didn't stain, darling. Oh, and pour us some wine."

Antonio sighed, entering the house with Francis and immediately helping him shrug out of his clothes. Francis laughed quietly at being nude once more, the perfect state for _l'amour_, as he often said, and collapsed onto the settee in front of the fireplace.

He stretched out, catlike, and moaned happily. "That wine? I suppose the bath can wait…"

With a heavy heart Antonio descended into the wine cellar and fetched a fine merlot, which he brought upstairs along with two red-wine glasses. He poured a drink for himself and a drink for his master. His master's glass was significantly fuller. The wine swirling in the glasses was the color of blood, and he felt ill all over again.

"Here, Don Bonnefoy. Your wine."

"Ah, thank you, Antonio, dear. Just bring my clothes to the housekeeper and she'll take care of it so we can enjoy this wonderful merlot and, then, you can go home. Don't you have Romano waiting for you there?"

Ah, yes. Romano. He had nearly forgotten about his lover, whom he had promised to meet hours ago. He was surely livid by now.

"Yes, Romano's at my house!"

"Well, drink up, mon cheri. You don't want to keep that one waiting, do you?"

Antonio drained his glass and bid his master goodbye. He dropped the stained suit with the housekeeper, who knew better than to ask questions, and stumbled home, the bottle of merlot still clutched in one hand.

He drank from the bottle the entire way home.

* * *

><p>Feliciano rarely felt embarrassed. He was naked much of the time regardless, but, now, he felt ashamed and dirty and in pain. When he finally reached the Beilschmidt mansion, he banged on the door with one hand and used the other to clutch his shirt closed and maintain some semblance of modesty.<p>

He stood outside on the steps, shivering more with shame than cold, and waited for Ludwig to open the door.

When Ludwig finally opened the door, still in the process of buttoning up his shirt, Feliciano fell upon him. Ludwig squawked but caught him all the same. Before he could ask Feliciano what he was doing standing outside his house in nothing but a thin night shirt, Feliciano started speaking, high pitched and frantic.

"Help me, Ludwig, please…there's a man at my house," Feliciano said, pressing his face into Ludwig's chest. "He…"

"Why aren't you dressed? What happened?" Ludwig said. He stroked Feliciano's hair gently. "Is your grandfather safe? _Did he hurt you_?"

Feliciano wailed. "I don't know if grandpa is okay! That's why I need your help…Romano is visiting Antonio, and he couldn't help me, but—but that man! That man, he could kill grandpa….oh, god, oh…oh, god."

Ludwig, far shrewder than people tend to think, noticed that Feliciano failed to address his last question, but he did not press him.

"Come now, don't cry, Feliciano. I'll help you; it's okay."

With one still holding his shirt closed, even though Ludwig had seen him naked many times, he took Ludwig's hand and led him back to his home, unknowing what horrors they would find when they arrived.

* * *

><p>Romano Vargas, by default, was not a happy man. However, he was made even more unhappy when Antonio kept him waiting after inviting him to stay the night. He had already brought himself off twice. After that, he found a bottle of champagne and was drinking from the bottle when he found himself with feline company.<p>

Sprawled out across the sofa with a sticky stomach, Romano growled at Antonio's cat when the animal butted his head against his trailing knuckles, but still gave the cat a reluctant scratch behind the ears.

"What do you want, cat? Milk? I don't have any, so you'll have to wait for your horrible owner to come back to spoil you, now won't you?" he said.

"Miau," said the cat.

"Is that all you can say? 'Miau?' What a typical cat thing to say."

"Mrrrowwww."

"Oh, so you can make other noises, you fat bastard?"

The cat, Bastardo, for Romano had been allowed to name him, took that as an invitation up and jumped heavily on Romano stomach.

"Oof."

"Miau."

He continued with his drunken kitty banter until there was the sound of a key turning in the lock, at which point he bolted up and immediately wished he had stayed sitting. He swayed on the spot and made a low moan.

Antonio, equally drunk, tangled his feet when he tried to approach the swaying, angry Romano and fell face-first at Romano's feet.

"Get up, bastard, and give your…your cat! Yeah, give your cat some…er…comes from cows. Milk!"

"Oh, sweet Romano…always worried about the cat…"

Antonio continued to mumble into Romano's feet until Romano kicked him off.

"What kept you, ass…assssss….asshole? I've been waiting, talking to your cat, and you've been doing something stupid, I'm sure!"

"Very stupid, my dear, my darling, very, very stupid. Ugh, this merlot," Antonio said, clutching Romano's knees and nuzzling his chin against his thighs. "Wait! I had something to tell you…yes, something…oh, god, something happened to your grandfather. The don…you need to go home."

"I need to go home? You invited me over, kept me w-w-waiting and horny and now you want me to go home? I fucking hate you. See if you ever get sex again!"

"Oh, I deserve to never get sex again, my sweet tomato. But you really need to go home and see to your grandfather…."

Romano manhandled Antonio upwards and barely even protested when Antonio stole a drunken kiss.

"I'm so sorry I kept you waiting, Romano," Antonio said mournfully.

"Fuck off. If you hadn't kept me waiting, we could have fucked by now. Fucker. I'm going to go back in the morning. You owe me sex, and I'm going to get it."

Antonio sniffled quietly. "Okay, dear."

* * *

><p>Ludwig had never heard Feliciano scream the way he did when he found his grandfather's body, and he never wanted to hear it again. Feliciano fell upon the former Don Vargas's body and sobbed pitifully into his chest.<p>

"Grandpa? Grandpa, wake up, come on, we'll get you to a hospital! It'll be okay…it'll be okay…."

Ludwig did not have the heart to pull him away from the body, and he stood, awkwardly aside while Feliciano turned his face upward and howled. It rent Ludwig's heart in two.

"He killed him, Ludwig! That man killed him, oh, my god. Oh…why?"

"I don't know."

Feliciano stood up, blood on his shirt, and looked at Ludwig with blazing, if red-rimmed, eyes. "Promise me you'll avenge his death. Promise me. That man tried to take my honor, and then he killed my grandfather. I…I cannot marry you until this man has been made to pay, Ludwig."

And, because Ludwig could never really deny Feliciano, he said yes.

* * *

><p>Okay, I love opera. Let's get that out of the way, yes? So, I love opera, I want to be an opera singer, whatever, and I'm trying to start an Operatalia series taking from my favorite operas. Um, I hope you enjoyed this; I rarely write France, but I don't think he's truly a <em>bad <em>person in canon. I just needed a similar character type to fit the character of Don Giovanni, so, really, I'm sorry to any France fans if he comes off as too evil. Don Giovanni was kind of an asshole in the original, too, and I was trying to keep with the tone of this. This is NOT a tragedy, either. Mozart claimed it was _buffo_, but I have always seen it as more of a dramedy. Oh, well. Enjoy!


End file.
